[closed] the doctor is in

[cerebral]

Who: Charles Xavier, Olivia Dunham (prime) and Rachel Conway.
What: Various appointments.
Where: The Glory Shada.
When: Backdated to a couple of weeks ago, for whenever is convenient.
Notes: None.
Warnings: None.

On Newdi to Givdi, Charles Xavier keeps the usual nine to five office hours at the Glory Shada unless otherwise organised (i.e. nocturnal clients, people who need the discretion, others who need some advice but don't have the marks) and Veerdi morning eight until twelve acts as a drop-in hours. It's ideal for anyone who has been working up the courage or simply has a few questions that can be answered quickly.

His office is removed enough from the medical parts of the building that it doesn't having that lingering smell of disinfectant; he's done his best to set it up as a calm place with comfortable seating. A few pictures drawn by children --presumably patients-- decorate the walls. One appears to be a crayoned rendition of a man in a cardigan with a smiley face standing next to a small boy with a big smile sprouting fire from his hands. Even in Baedal, wobbly thank-you drawings are a constant.

The good doctor himself can most likely be found sitting behind his desk, taking care of paperwork or reading from various medical books, whilst waiting for knocks on his door.

Comments

[cerebral]

"It's a pleasure to meet you in person, Rachel. I think it might be best if we take a seat first," he says, gesturing towards the desk.

And once he is seated, "It's not really about where I'd like to begin. It's where you would."

He may be able to know the answers in a heartbeat, but talking can be a cathartic experience. That and it helps to establish a bond of trust a lot better.

[gotbottle]

She's mildly startled by his suggestion, taking an extra moment to settle herself in the chair, though none of this shows on her face. She's had a lot of years of hiding what goes on inside her head, keeping it from reflecting outwardly. She'd expected... well, she's not sure, really. Questioning? Being treated as a medical doctor would treat her?

This is nice, but she flounders inwardly for a moment, trying to figure out just where the beginning is. Having Raylan find out about her as he did? The fact that she hid it at all? How about when she was a kid, or when she first suspected, or when she first saw it for herself? When she killed her stepdad (she's sure she did this, no one can talk her out of it).

Maybe it's best to focus on why and not when or how.

"I'm scared, Charles. I always have been and that's pretty much what landed me here. I'm scared of what I can do, and scared of how people are going to take it."

[cerebral]

Folding his hands together in front of him, Charles gives a reassuring nod. "Keeping a secret as big as an evolved ability, or being a member of a non-human species... It's a lot of pressure, and it's constant. It's perfectly normal to fear rejection, or a lack or control, or even a fear of hurting others. Especially the ones we love."

It's something that Charles can identify with, although he keeps his pronouns neutral. Still, it's easy to see he feels empathetic towards what Rachel is going through. This is not someone who goes for a clinical, distant approach.


"If you'd feel comfortable telling me, I'd like to begin by you telling me in your own words what it is that you do. Or show me --either is fine. Just do what feels right for you."

[gotbottle]

She visibly deflates with relief. He gets it. She'd been so afraid he'd be another in a long line of people who just didn't, who couldn't. "That's it exactly," she agrees, her voice soft. "I've been so afraid that it's gotten to the point where I'm paralyzed by it. And where it's causing me problems, I guess. I'm hiding things instead of trying to deal with them."

She pauses, considering. "I... I think it's easier if I just show you." There's an inward spike of anxiety as she opens her bag and pulls out a flashlight. Rachel scoots closer to Charles' desk, leaning into it.

"Okay, so... watch my hand, and its shadow," she tells him. There's a pen resting on his desk, closer to her than to him. She holds her left hand about a foot above the desk, to one side of where the pen rests. She turns on the flashlight, and shines it on the back of that splayed hand, so it casts a shadow onto the desk's surface.

She takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Her face is a mask of concentration, all her attention focused on her hand. For about thirty seconds or so, nothing at all happens.

And then, even though her hand remains still, its shadow flickers, and then slides across his desk top. It moves over the pen, ethereal fingers pressing down on it and dragging it back toward her hand.

[cerebral]

Charles watches very closely --both Rachel's expression and the demonstration-- and when the desired effect finally happens, his face lights up in a small yet delighted smile. "That's incredible," although remembering Rachel's anxiety, he clears his throat and tries for professional again.

"Forgive me, I know it's not easy living with a secret this large, or something you're afraid of controlling." His features relax again, looking back at the pencil, before meeting Rachel's eye. "But you have a gift, Rachel. You can innately manipulate light and matter. It's something that, at least my society in twentieth century Earth, won't be able to do with technology for maybe hundreds of years."

The use of positive terminology is deliberate (even if he truly believes his words). The idea is to start disassociating the ability with negativity, to undo the mental blocks, even if it is only a few words. It's the hopeful start of Rachel being able to control her ability, instead of letting it control her.

"In full disclosure --although it's quite widely known around our cohort-- I should tell you that I'm a telepath." He's used to people seeming a little alarmed about that. "That means I can hear and feel what's going on in your mind. But, if you could, I'd much prefer for you to tell me in your own words how it feels when you use your power." Again, it's building trust and allowing the patient to go through the cognitive process by themselves.

[gotbottle]

Rachel's gaze snaps up, swift, from her shadow to Charles' face at his exclamation. It's not a reaction she's gotten before, the few times she felt brave--or cornered--enough to reveal this ability; Raylan's stunned and confused "I guess I won't stop trusting you" was honestly the most positive one yet. "Thank you," she stammers, snapping off the flashlight. She takes a moment to replace both flashlight in her bag and the pencil on his desk, in the same spot it had been.

And then she settles back in her seat, listening to him. "The other doctor, he said that too." She makes a soft sound, almost a laugh. "I mean, like. Not that I actually talked to him. The book I read, the one I mentioned back when I first talked to you. He said that these abilities were gifts too. I'd like to be able to see it that way."

The clear implication is that she doesn't. But as much as the same emotional sense lies under her words, there's a hint of something more. A part of her does wish, did wish she could see this as something incredible. But it had fallen on a young girl who already stood out in more ways than she wanted, between her deceased father and her mother's inability to cope, even down to her red hair and freckles. It was one more way in which she was different and she had just wanted to hide it.

She's surprised, for sure, when he reveals his telepathy. But after a moment, it makes sense. He's so understanding not just because he has a leg up on understanding what goes through a patient's head, but because he's been through it himself, he understands what it's like to deal with something like this.

She smiles, faintly, there and gone, to indicate that she'll do as he asks. Her gaze drifts a bit as she grasps for the words. "There's a physical sensation. I feel, like... I don't know, like a pull" she says, a hand coming up from the arm of her chair to twist into a fist in front of her solar plexus. "And the more I try to sustain it, the longer I try to hold it or the more, like, strenuous things I try to do with it, the more tired I am afterwards. Like, last time, I, uh. Threw a ghost down a street and then choked it. And I was exhausted."

There's another pause. In the interests of full disclosure, right? Besides, it's not like he probably already doesn't sense it all inside her head, her heart.

"I'm terrified to use it. I'm scared of losing control of it. I only ever did once, and... someone died."